Purgatory
by electric violinist
Summary: Brendan, waiting, finds himself visiting someone. One shot


**I have been sooo rubbish, I know! Taken ages to update anything or do anything.**

**So, here is another one shot to keep us going.**

The grey figures on the screen danced and drank and flirted their night away. Kids who were too young, sad lonely bastards who should be old enough to know better, they all merged together, hoping to blow their problems away with alcohol and sex. Didn't they know there was no absolution in either? When you woke up in the morning, the rest would still be there, just alongside a stranger or a headache.

Brendan swirled his whiskey and wondered where he could get a shag at this time of night anyway. Temporary numbness could be as good as a cure.

He spotted a likely lad hanging out at the bar. He looked a bit nervous, he was probably shy. Brendan liked that quality. Well, sort of. They were easier to manipulate when they wouldn't say boo to a goose. But they usually weren't the most fun. Mouthy was fun. Passionate.

But that was not useful right now. He had people to watch. Sampson could be anywhere, ready to attack, and Brendan had to be ready. He couldn't fail again. He couldn't let another innocent girl pay the price for his stupidity.

He breathed in deeply and rubbed his face. Now was not the time to mourn Lynsey. Protecting the living came first.

Protecting Cheryl, who did not want to be protected.

He would never stop protecting her though. She had been the only ray of light through some of the darkest times of his miserable life. She was good, and bright, and so important. What had Walker called her? 'The only thing that mattered.'

But that wasn't exactly true either. There were too many people that mattered for Brendan to protect all at once. He just had to hope there was enough distance between him and them that they didn't need to be watched like Cheryl did. His sons were on the other side of a sea. That was sure to be enough, wasn't it? There was no reason for anyone to go after them. And Steven…

Steven had done a good enough impression of someone who hated him to not be considered by most casual observers. And Sampson was a casual enough observer to mistake a short brunette for his 6 foot sister. If he started going out of his way to protect him now, it would only draw unwanted attention.

He'd killed a man to protect Steven. He could stay away from the boy to do the same thing.

He sighed again and rubbed his eyes. There was nothing going on tonight. The club was irredeemably boring tonight. The same old same old. It was irrelevant, like the drugs and the money – it always had been.

He got up, threw open the door, and marched out of the building, no destination in mind. Was he checking on Cheryl? At midnight? Would anyone even open the door to him? Probably not. On the balcony he looked across the village. It was quiet. Far quieter than the chaos behind him. There was barely any movement. He breathed again. This feeling of stasis – a purgatory, waiting for the final blow, was really getting to him.

He stormed down the steps. Nobody stopped him. Walker and Joel were on jobs for him, and no one else was brave enough to try. His feet controlled themselves, carrying him to the place he avoided.

They were his now, of course; these pokey little flats. He wasn't even sure in his own mind if they were a business acquisition or a desperate new attempt to get control over Steven again. Probably the latter, as the first thing he had done was rub it in the boy's face. Then put the rent up. Then forgot to ask for it.

He had some keys somewhere. He checked his pockets and pulled out the bundle, but had to try a few in the lock before he found the right one, then let himself in.

The small hallway was dark; as was the kitchen, but there was a low light and the sound of talking coming from the living are. Maybe he could pick a fight with the yank. That would at least make him feel better.

This was breaking his own rules anyway. Coming here, if he was being watched, would put Steven well and truly on Sampson's radar. He should just go.

"Who's there?" asked a croaky voice from the living area, and Brendan realised it hadn't been a conversation he'd heard. It was the telly.

He turned, ready to leave.

"Oi," said the same voice, "I know there's someone there, I'm calling the police, right!"

"Steven…" he hadn't meant to say anything. He didn't even care if the boy called the police; he was doing nothing wrong being there, and he would be gone before they arrived anyway.

Steven burst round the archway.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and Brendan couldn't fail to notice the slight shift in tone. It wasn't the 'get out you bastard' tone he'd got used to recently. Nor was it the 'I've been waiting for this all day,' tone he would have been greeted with once upon a time. It was curiosity, surprise. But it wasn't completely unwanted.

That should have bothered him if he was thinking straight.

"I just…" there was no real end to that sentence, so instead he said, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah…" Steven replied, frowning at him with obvious confusion.

"Hmm," hummed Brendan.

"Er, you know you're meant to give notice if you're coming over," Steven grumbled, slightly more back to the tone Brendan would expect from him. That voice actually pulled the edges of his mouth up. Almost the first smile in months.

"Yeah," Brendan said, "I've never been much for the rules."

Steven stared at him, he stared back.

"So, what are you doing here?" Steven asked again.

Brendan sniffed. "I don't know."

Steven looked away. When he turned back, Brendan spotted a slight glisten of tears in his eyes.

"Where's Douglas?" Brendan asked, a sneer in his voice.

"He's been staying at his mostly, after Silas turned up and terrified Texas."

Brendan grumbled a response.

"This is the first night we haven't spent together in ages," Steven offered, unnecessarily, and Brendan wondered why he felt it so important to mention. Was he trying to make Brendan jealous or trying to make him back off? Or was he just proving a point.

"I was missing the kids, though, so…"

Steven, rambling on. It was what the boy did, whether it was necessary or not.

"So, you're OK then?" Brendan asked again, searching the boy's face for signs of the truth, getting too close. Dangerously close.

"Yeah, I told yer…"

Brendan didn't let him finish the sentence. He'd been watching Steven's lips. They entranced him sometimes. Today they entranced him so much that he barely noticed he'd stopped staring at them and had started to kiss them.

He felt Steven's hands on his chest. They just lay there a moment, longer than they should, before Steven used them to push him away.

The boy breathed deeply for a few moments, clearly trying to get a grasp on what to say.

"I shouldn't have done that," Brendan said.

Steven almost laughed, "Catching on now, are ye?"

Brendan snorted, "Not because of all that."

"All that?" Steven repeated.

"You can sleep with as many Americans as you want Steven, they'll never compare to me."

"Eyar..."

"Oh, shut up, Steven, you know it to."

"Brendan!"

Brendan couldn't be bothered to listen to all that again, so he kissed him again. This time Steven pushed him away more forcefully, but Brendan grabbed both his arms. A look of panic crossed Steven's face, but it wasn't necessary. Brendan had never made Steven do anything he didn't want to do, and wasn't about to start now.

"I shouldn't be near you because it puts you in danger."

Steven gaped at him.

"I'm sorry," Brendan hissed, quietly.

Steven didn't say anything, so Brendan took the opportunity to kiss him again. It was probably going to be the last time in ages, so he made the most of it, tasting Steven's lips, relaxing his grip on Steven's arms, and stroking down them, and down the boys sides, enjoying the thin frame, the way Steven's lips were responding even despite the boys protests.

He didn't break it until he had to draw breath. He rested his forehead against that of the man he loved. Steven was breathing unsteadily against him.

They stayed like that a moment too long. Steven didn't seem to know what to do, and neither did Brendan. Though he knew what the right thing to do was.

"Good bye, Steven," he whispered.

"But…" Steven began to protest, but Brendan was already walking away. He opened the door and stepped out into the night. Steven didn't stop him.

No one seemed to have seen his moment of weakness, but Brendan knew that was just luck. He should know better than to cave to these feelings. He had to keep his distance. Or he'd have to drag two unwilling people to a foreign country.

He sniffed in the warm night air. It was time to go home, to his cold lonely flat, to wait some more. Wait for the explosion. Or for anything that could bring this to a close.

He sniffed again, then felt the wetness at his eyes. Brendan Brady was crying in the street. Where anyone could see him, just by peeking through their curtains.

How pathetic was that?


End file.
